Page 158 of Our Sins in Blood (Coven of Sin 1)

The next series of events unfolded so quickly, I could barely discern what was happening.

A streak of black bolted in through one of the broken windows. It moved so fast it was a blur of feathers and black smoke. In the blink of an eye, a half-naked man stood between the vampires and me, ready to strike.

He drove his fist into the lesser vampire’s head with such force, the vampire’s skull caved in, and he crumpled to the concrete in a broken heap.

The male twisted his head to shoot me a sideways glance, his green eyes sparkling, raven tattoos glistening beneath a coat of sweat.

My heart squeezed, and if this had been the time and place to cry for joy, I would have.

Vincent Feral had come back for me.

Chapter seventy-three

Rain of Silver

VincentFeralhadcomeback for me.

My chest filled with so much warmth, I thought I might explode with a new sense of hope. With him, maybe we had a shot at making it out of this factory alive.

I wanted to slap Vincent for leaving me like he had. At the same time, I wanted to kiss him for coming back. But there was no time to do either.

Eros’ ragged screams of pain brought me crashing down from my temporary euphoric high that Feral’s entrance had created. My mate writhed in agony at my feet, his body going stiff, his teeth grinding, the tendons going so taut in his neck I thought they might snap.

It didn’t make any sense. Vampires were supposed to have rapid regeneration abilities, so why wasn’t he healing?

As Feral’s form grew larger right before my eyes, I began to grasp what was happening.

Vincent’s muscles bulged, and his bones cracked as they stretched to impossible proportions. When he hulked out like this at the fight, he’d done it by accident. Now, he was morphing into a huge beast-version of himself on purpose, using Eros’ pain as fuel.

I hated that Eros had to suffer to fuel this weapon, but in this situation, it was absolutely necessary. And if it wasn’t for the fact that Eros had passed out again, he’d probably agree.

Feral was now at least nine, maybe even ten feet tall. He was slabs of muscle on muscle, and he took up so much space the other vampires had to jump back, stunned by the sheer size of the mammoth-sized vampire.

“Shoot him!” Sharpe’s shrill voice splintered with fresh panic.

“But Sir,” one of them interjected, his gun awkwardly pointed to the floor. “What if we hit the princess? Doesn’t Lord Dagon need her for the ritual?”

“If she gets hurt, we can heal her with blood from the hybrid’s corpse. Shoot him!”

Vincent didn’t waste another damn second. Leveraging the hesitation from the lesser vampires to our advantage, he scooped me up in one arm and tossed me over his shoulder. He did it so fast that his rock-hard muscles knocked the wind from my lungs as I was slung over him like a sack of flour.

I held my breath—or what little I had left—because for one moment there, I thought Vincent was going to leave Eros to his fate. But relief eased the tightness in my chest when Vincent stooped to lift his unconscious rival and hauled him over his other shoulder.

A spray of bullets hailed down on metal, the ear-rattling sound echoing through the whole factory as Vincent hauled ass around a corner just in time. Thankfully, we found ourselves in a hallway large enough to fit Vincent’s titan form.

The factory was huge, with a maze of doors and concrete tunnels. We headed deeper into the facility, which was great for getting Sharpe and his men off our tails but not so great for finding an exit. “Fucking shit…” Feral mumbled to himself as he came to yet another dead end.

“Put me down. I can walk now,” I told him. He hesitated for a beat, then set me on my feet. A span of awkward silence prevailed as I gawked up at him in awe, my gaze flickering between his, searching.

He didn’t look any different, other than the fact that he reminded me of one of those little toy animals you drop in water that blows up overnight. It was still Vincent, with his unkempt jet black hair, his chiseled jawline, strong nose, and raven tattoos.

The last time I saw this tank-like version of him, he hadn’t been himself. It was the base instincts of his other race in control, not Feral. But something was different this time.

“Vincent?” I paused in the hallway, and he stopped and turned to look at me.

“What?”

“So it is you in there?”

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